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209 pages

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German novelist Eugenie John, who wrote under the pseudonym E. Marlitt, achieved a remarkable degree of literary fame during her lifetime, particularly in light of the fact that she suffered from a condition that rendered her deaf and she was largely self-supporting from a young age. At the Councillor's is an engaging romance novel translated from the German by the skilled linguist Annis Lee Wister.

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Romance

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 octobre 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776592272
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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AT THE COUNCILLOR'S
OR, A NAMELESS HISTORY
* * *
E. MARLITT
Translated by
ANNIS LEE WISTER

*
At the Councillor's Or, A Nameless History First published in 1893 Epub ISBN 978-1-77659-227-2 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77659-228-9 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Note Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII Chapter XIX Chapter XX Chapter XXI Chapter XXII Chapter XXIII Chapter XXIV Chapter XXV Chapter XXVI Chapter XXVII Chapter XXVIII Chapter XXIX Endnotes
Note
*
In Germany, the title of "Councillor" ( Rath ) can be purchased by thosewho achieve a certain eminence in their several walks of life, or it maybe conferred as an honour by the Prince or King. The merchant who givesthe name to this romance is thus " Councillor of Commerce ," a compoundword so unwieldy in English that the translator preferred to render "Inthe house of the Councillor of Commerce" by "At the Councillor's."
A. L. W.
Chapter I
*
The rays of a December sun shone dimly into a room in the large castlemill, calling forth feeble sparks of light from the strange objectslying on the broad stone window-sill, and then vanishing in a bank ofsnow-clouds that were rising slowly but steadily in the west. Theobjects sparkling so strangely on the window-sill were some portion of asurgeon's apparatus; those instruments the cold, steely glitter of whichstartles the eye and sends a shudder through the nerves of many a braveman. A huge bedstead, the head and footboard clumsily painted withgaudy roses and carnations, and piled with feather-beds and patchworkquilts, stood directly in the broad light from the window, and upon thisbed lay the castle miller. The skilful hand of the physician had justrelieved him of a tumour in the throat that had several times threatenedhis life with suffocation. It had been a perilous undertaking, but theyoung man who now pulled down the window-shade and began to put up hisinstruments looked entirely satisfied,—the operation had succeeded.
The invalid, who shortly before, when only partly under the influence ofchloroform, had pushed away the hand of the physician, abusing him in ahoarse voice as a robber and murderer, now lay quiet and exhausted amongthe pillows. He had been forbidden to talk,—surely an unnecessaryprohibition, for it would have been difficult to find a face bearing sounmistakable an impress of dull taciturnity as did this square, clumsycountenance, which had but one beauty to boast of,—the thick, silveryhair that enclosed it as in a frame.
"Are you satisfied, Bruck?" [1] asked a gentleman, who now approached thephysician from the foot of the bed, where he had been standing. Hishandsome features wore an expression of keen anxiety.
The doctor nodded. "All right so far; the patient's strong constitutionwill stand him in stead now," he said, quietly, glancing towards the oldman. "At present all depends upon the nursing; I must leave. For sometime he must not stir from his present position. There must be nohemorrhage from the wound—"
"I will see to that," the other interrupted him, eagerly; "I will stayas long as careful watching is needed. Will you not leave word at thevilla that I shall not come back to tea?"
A slight flush mounted to the physician's cheek, and there was someembarrassment in the tone of his reply: "I cannot go round through thepark. I must get to town as quickly as possible—"
"You have not seen Flora to-day, doctor—"
"I know that well enough. I—" He paused, compressed his lips, andtook up his case of instruments. "I have some patients very ill," hewent on, calmly: "the little Lenz girl will die before to-morrowmorning. I cannot save the child, but the parents, who are utterlyexhausted with nursing and anxiety, are counting the moments while I amaway from them; the mother will eat only when I insist upon it."
Ho approached the bed, where the sick man raised his eyes to him with alook of perfect consciousness; there was even a glimmer of gratitude inthem for the sudden and unspeakable relief he had experienced. He wouldhave taken his benefactor's hand, but the latter imposed quiet with hisown, as he reiterated the necessity for avoiding all motion whatever."The councillor will remain here, Herr Sommer," he added, "and see thatmy injunctions are strictly obeyed."
This seemed to content the old man; he looked towards the councillor,who confirmed by a nod the physician's words, and then he closed hiseyes as if to try to sleep. Doctor Bruck took his hat, gave his hand tothe councillor, and left the room.
To an anxious wife seated by the bedside of the patient his departurewould have been the signal for a weary sense of forlornness,—theopposite of the fresh courage with which his coming inspired the poormother who took needful nourishment only at his request. But no suchloving anxiety watched by this man's couch. The old housekeeper, whocame into the room to put it in order after the doctor's visit, lookedcoldly indifferent; she flitted about like a bat, and seemed much moredistressed by a few drops of water that marred the polish upon one ofher tables than by the danger that had threatened her master's life.
"Pray let that be for the present, Susie," the councillor said, in hismost courteous tone. "Your rubbing that table makes a noise veryirritating to the nerves; Doctor Bruck prescribes absolute repose forPapa."
Susie hastily picked up housecloth and broom, and betook herself to herneat and shining kitchen, there to forget the stains upon the table. Asperfect quiet as was possible in the mill reigned in the room she hadleft; up through the floor came the continuous, measured beat ofmachinery; the water tumbling over the weir outside sang its perpetualrefrain, and now and then the doves fluttered against the window-pane,or cooed in the branches of the ancient chestnuts, through which thewestern light faintly illumined the room. These mingled noises did notexist as such for the sick man, however: they were as much part andparcel of his existence as the beating of his heart.
It was indeed a repulsive face which the elegant figure at the bedsidewatched, according to his promise, so carefully. Its coarseness, thehard lines of low vulgarity about the pendulous nether lip, had never soimpressed and disgusted him as now, when sleep or exhaustion had robbedit of force and revealed all its original characteristics. Yes, the oldman had begun life low enough in the scale, as a hard-workedmill-servant, but he was now the owner of untold wealth; trade had madea money-monarch of the invalid upon the clumsy old bedstead; and thisfact, doubtless, had something to do with the familiar epithet of "Papa"bestowed upon him by the councillor, who was not bound to him by any tieof blood. The councillor had married the daughter of the deceased bankerMangold by his first wife. For his second, Mangold had wooed and wonthe daughter of the old miller. This was all the relationship thatexisted between the miller and his nurse.
The councillor arose and stepped softly to the window. He was a man ofvivacious temperament, and sitting still in this way made him nervous;he could not bear the constant gazing upon that unsympathetic face,those coarse, sinewy fists, now buried in the down coverlet, which hadonce wielded the whip above the mill-horses. The chestnuts before thewindow had long since shed their last leaf; every opening left in thetracery of their boughs formed a rural landscape picture, each lovelierthan the other, although for the moment the dark December sky dimmed thelustre that was reflected from the little lake, and veiled in mistygloom the hazy purple of the distant mountain-tops.
There, on the right, the river, after turning the wheels of the castlemill, made a sudden bend; a frame-work of boughs on that side enclosed astrip of its shining course, and a structure the purposes of which itwas made to serve, a huge, square, unornamented stone building, withrows of windows enhancing its naked ugliness. This was the councillor'sfactory. He too was a rich man; he employed hundreds of weavers atclattering looms, and this property of his placed him in a kind ofdependent position with regard to the castle miller. The mill, builthundreds of years before by a lord of the land, had been endowed withimmense prerogatives, which, still in force, controlled a considerablestretch of the river, and were irritating enough to the dwellers uponits banks. Upon these prerogatives the burly master of the castle milltook his stand, and showed his teeth to any one who dared to lay afinger upon his rights. Once only a tenant of the mill, he had slowlybut surely stretched forth the arms of his growing wealth, until notonly the mill was his own, but also the baronial estate to which it hadoriginally belonged. This he had accomplished shortly before themarriage of his only child to the respectable banker Mangold. Theextensive forests and farm-land upon the estate were all that the millercared for; the magnificent villa in the midst of its stately park hadalways been an eye-sore to him; nevertheless, he had kept the "costlytoy" in perfect repair, for the pleasure of seeing his daughter rule asmistress where the former haughty lord had always disdained even toanswer his salute. The counci